


Both Sides Now

by full_ofstarlight



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 06:40:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17157128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/full_ofstarlight/pseuds/full_ofstarlight
Summary: Set right after Julian’s arrest, Portia and Nadia confront and comfort one another





	Both Sides Now

_Everything is going wrong._

As she walks through the palace, this is what she thinks. Portia holds her head up high, making her way through the marbled floors. No one notices – of course they don’t. No one notices the maid, even if she is Nadia’s favorite. No one notices her, even though her idiot of a brother has just turned himself in for a murder he did not commit.

Did he kill Count Lucio? Portia does not think so. Not Ilya. He couldn’t possibly –

She passes a guard and smiles sweetly, ducking her head down, because they cannot know. No one can know that the man they’ve just taken away is her blood.

Especially not the Countess.

Not for the first time, Portia feels a wave of nausea well up and when she is sure there is no one trailing her, she ducks into a little corner, back pressed against the wall. She tilts her head back, so the top touches the stone and inhales slowly. Tears sting at her eyes.

There is still one person she needs to see and that is the Countess, Portia does not know if she can do it. Will the Countess know immediately upon looking at her? Will she put two and two together and realize that Portia has been lying – lying this whole time about who she was, what she knew? Or will she look right past Portia and not even realize this burden that she holds?

Portia does not know which is worse.

She does not know how her heart can both weep for her brother and beat for the Countess. She wonders if that makes her a terrible person. Surely, someone stronger would pick one or the other. Someone stronger would pick the brother.

She knows she is not strong.

The Countess has asked for her evening cup of herbal tea, so no matter how weak Portia is, she must go to Nadia’s side. _Nadia_ , she thinks, then repeats slowly, though no sound ever escapes her lips. To speak the Countess’s name out loud seems almost blasphemous. She is the Countess, milady, nothing more to Portia, no matter how much her heart flutters in the Countess’s presence.

With a deep exhale, Portia pushes her back from the wall and steadies the serving tray she is holding. She walks back out to the hallway, her lips pressed into a complacent smile,  as if her whole world had not crashed from just this morning to now.

The Countess’s chambers lay just beyond the doorway, on the other side of the wall. That is all that is between her and Portia and the truth.

\--

Nadia’s chambers are the finest in the whole palace. Well. That is not quite true. If one were to assess the chambers by the exact numerical worth of the wealth within, _technically_ it would be Lucio’s that were the finest – but Lucio is dead and though his chambers are covered in gold and velvet and glimmering with jewels, if you ask anyone with a remote sense of taste and culture, Nadia’s are far superior.

That is what she thinks, of course. And what Nadia thinks is most often true.

It is funny – the paradox of this room. For it was within these very walls that Nadia fell into that deep slumber, these walls that held her unconscious body like a tomb. But at the same time, it is this room that provides her sanctuary, relief, this room where she can feel most alive.

The setting sun bathes the room orange and gold. Nadia sits by the window, gazing out onto Vesuvia.

So today is the day when Dr. Devorak has finally slipped back into her grasp.

She wonders if today will be the day that Portia tells her who she is.

Oh, Nadia knows. Well – Nadia has had the suspicion for quite some time now, and remember, what Nadia thinks is most often true. The Doctor’s face was but a sliver of memory, but she remembers once, when her eyes lingered on Portia as she poured wine, Portia had tilted her head just so, the auburn hair of hers sweeping across her eye and why, a jolt of recognition coursed through Nadia.

Her face remained passive, of course, but since that initial hypothesis, Nadia has spent quite some time gathering evidence. The dropped pitcher on the night of the magician’s apprentice’s arrival, of course, being the particular event that cemented her theory.

It has been nearly twenty minutes since Nadia summoned Portia, which means that Portia must be near, if not just on the other side of the door. She wonders if that is the case, if Portia is here but hesitating, if she is trying to figure out the best way to tell the truth. Or perhaps, Portia is simply late, the kitchen staff simply overwhelmed, and today will pass as every other and Portia will be as far away as ever.

Silent moments pass, Nadia’s gaze fixed outwards upon the city, her fingers tapping on the railing of the balcony.

 

\--

Portia nudges the door open with her shoulder. Her breathing is steady, her lips pulled in an ever-pleasant smile. Only if one is accustomed to her face, would one notice she has been crying. Illya would know, Mazelinka as well. But she assumes that the Countess’s gaze does not linger on her face as much as her own gaze lingers on the Countess’s.

“Milady,” she says, bending on one knee. “I have your tea – milady?”

The Countess is not at her usual evening settee, near the low table decorated with jasmine flowers. Portia sets the tray onto the table, glancing around the room. The Countess’s room reflects who she is as a woman, and there is something about being here – being here alone, without the Countess herself—that makes Portia feel as if she is trespassing, as if she is peering into the Countess’s innermost self. She does not know if she is allowed.

“Milady?” calls Portia, again, tiptoeing past the bed.

“On the balcony.” The Countess’s voice drifts through the high-ceilinged room.

Portia starts to turn back, to retrieve the tea.

“You needn’t bring the tea, Portia.”

Portia hesitates.

“Milady – do you…do you want to be left alone?”

Her heart pounds. On the tip of her tongue the words dance – _Dr. Devorak is my brother; you’ve caught my brother; you want to kill my brother_ – but at the same time, with the same fervor, so does another phrase – _I love you, Nadia._

“No,” comes the reply. “Well – that is – if you would rather take your leave.”

There’s something strained in the Countess’s voice, enough of a hesitation that Portia ventures towards the balcony, twisting her apron between her fingers. The Countess stands by the railing, the glow of the setting sun catching on her violet hair. She is always beautiful, but the sun makes her seem less a woman and more of an ethereal being. Portia feels her breath catch, but she keeps her face composed.

She’s grown very good at that.

“Milady,” she says and her voice is a little breathless.

Nadia does not turn around.

“Milady,” tries Portia again. “I am – “

“I am so sorry, Portia,” the Countess speaks before Portia can, turning around, her brows knit in concern.

“What for?” she squeaks instead. “You shouldn’t be sorry for _me_. If anything, I’m the one who -- ”

“Your brother,” says the Countess, her eyes locking with Portia’s.

Portia feels all the color drain out of her face.

“My – my brother,” she stammers and she blinks the beginnings of tears away. “Milady – I’m sorry. For lying.”

“I daresay you never _lied_ exactly. You merely … omitted the truth – “

“Is he going to die?” The words escape Portia’s lips before she can stop them. She is standing just a few arms’ lengths from the Countess, but it feels like there is a wall erected them. She expects the Countess’s features to harden, expects her lips to twist into a sneer, expects – at the least – to be dismissed instantly from her post. She wants to remember the Countness one last time, before she is banished –

“He will stand trial, just like any other citizen,” says the Countess and instead of pulling into a cruel glare, her gaze softens and she takes a step to Portia, who instinctively takes one back. The Countess’s lips part. “Portia? Are you alright?”

“I – I – do you hate me, milady?” For all her composure and control, Portia’s words keep flying before she can stop them. Her heart hammers so hard that it is a wonder it has not stammered right out of her chest.

The Countess’s brow creases.

“Hate you? _Hate_ you? Portia – I could never hate you.”

“But my brother – “

“You are my most trusted friend, Portia,” says the Countess and she takes another step towards Portia, who this time, does not move away. The Countess slips a finger beneath Portia’s chin, tilting her face upwards. Her crimson gaze bores right through Portia.

“I let you down,” whisper Portia, and despite herself – despite everything she’s instilled in herself as long as she’s worked at the palace – her hand catches onto the Countess’s and she squeezes her fingers.

“Oh Portia. “ And miraculously, the Countess smiles. “You did nothing of the sort. If anything – I should have said something sooner. I had my suspicions, you see.” Her voice falters. “I should have told you that I knew. _I_ failed you.” Her hand drops and she turns away from Portia.

“Milady!” Portia is breathless, Portia’s head is spinning, Portia is terrified for her brother, but she is also terrified for Nadia – yes, Nadia, the woman behind the title, the woman who bears the weight of the city, of the world, on her on shoulders and never once lets herself rest on the shoulders of others.

The Countess doesn’t turn. Portia reaches out to catch her fingers.

“Nadia!”

\--

Portia says her name. It is enough to flick her eyes open, enough so that she pauses where she stands, enough so that she feels something warm spread across her heart like the tendrils of a flame.

Nadia pauses. She stops. She turns around.

Portia’s fingers are still caught in her own. She pulls Portia’s hand closer, clasping it tight, looking at dear Portia, whose eyes are welling with tears, who had been crying before (Nadia could tell, she knew the minute Portia spoke upon entering, the cadence of her voice was enough).

“I want to help you,” says Portia. Her voice shakes. “But I also want to help him. I don’t know. Is that silly? Does that make sense?” A little sob bubbles in her throat and there is a brief flash of _wanting_ – Nadia wants to pull Portia closer, wrap her in her arms, whisper into her ear.

It comes across her powerfully. She feels disarmed. She hesitates.

But then she gives in – Nadia embraces Portia fully, drawing her close, wrapping an arm around her waist and pressing her lips to the top of Portia’s head. Portia is stiff initially, but a sob catches in her throat and she melts in Nadia’s arms.

Portia is warm. She smells like flour and sweet pea. Nadia wants her closer. There is something – it is comforting. Holding Portia in her arms.

“How long did you know?” murmurs Portia.

Nadia strokes her hair softly.

“A while.” She pauses. “It does not matter. I did not want you to tell me anything you were not ready to share.”

Portia does not saying anything in response, but her sobs are softer. Nadia strokes her hair, her back, occasionally pressing her lips to the fiery red hair. She has not felt this – this urge of warmth and caring, this desire to keep someone safe, to dry someone’s tears – since…well, she cannot even place it. She just knows that there is something about this embrace that is different. A tinge of color rises to her cheeks. Nadia is glad that Portia is not looking at her face.

It is something she will examine later, this feeling, pick apart as if it were a mechanical clock, and try to get to the bottom of what it all means. Later, Dr. Devorak – Portia’s brother – will go on trial. Later, they will try to figure out just what happened that fateful night three years ago. Later, their paths will cross with Asra the Magician’s and Dr. Devorak once more and that apprentice who is somehow at the center of it all. Later, they will confront just what this all means.

But for now – just for now, this moment, Nadia holds Portia closely, no wall between the two of them. They catch each other’s eyes, smiles held secret for so long finally dancing on their lips. They do not pull apart. The sun sets, casting them in its glow, a golden moment before the night falls.

 


End file.
